A Party for Two
by Cocohorse
Summary: When an interruption in the middle of "working on her night cheeze" leaves Liz flustered, she is surprised to find Jack "Silver Panther" Donaghy at her doorstep. A Jack/Liz fic., but with no lovey-dovey scenes, and instead of just them having fun together. There will be small hints at their pairing, for the fans, though! First fic., reviews wanted! Updated whenever possible.


_Working on my night cheeze..._

_Mhm..._

_Working on my night -_

_"Ding! Ding! Ding!"_ The sudden loud noise shot Liz Lemon out of her lingering daydream, which was of her having a wonderful conversation about cheese with Criss. But of course, the dummy wasn't an intellect, like her, on one of her favorite things in the universe, and so she had to resort to an in-and-out wish. Oh, how many times she tried to convert him to the "dark side"... The one with cookies and whatnot.

Right now, she was in one of her infamous lay-abouts on the couch, munching away on a variety of cheese types, all while snuggling up in a Slanket. It was one of the very few times she had all to herself. She didn't have to deal with the writers and actors and poorly-maintained food table at NBC here at her home, and she could just get away from it all by diving into her couch and hiding from the rest of the world. Like she cared what was going on.

"_Ding! Ding! Ding!_" Her doorbell! Ugh! What kind of profound idiot would try to crash in on her while she was doing something utterly important? When she was hungry, plus in a daydream, an interruption on a Saturday night was one to put her in a bad mood. The door rang a couple of more times, each _ding!_ a violent rattle in her head.

"I'm coming!" she hissed, setting her cheese on the table. Liz grimaced and stretched out from her uncomfortable position like cat. Not like a slinkly, lean cat, but like an obese cat with three legs. Well, while the cat was trying to untangle herself from her beloved Slanket, a frantic tug in the wrong direction sent her dropping from the couch to hit the hardwood floor. Moaning in defeat, the TGS writer flopped onto her stomach and began to army-crawl towards the door, reminding herself of another incident where she had to do the same exact thing. But her feeble crawling barely got her anywhere after a few seconds of trying to cross from Point A, the ground next to her couch, to Point B, the door. Her Slanket still annoyingly clinging on to her, Liz gave up and awkwardly flung herself to her feet.

_Whoever this is, you better have a good explanation or you better start running, _she thought grouchily, finally arriving to her door. Without bothering to take the extra effort to peer out the peephole, she swung open the door, maybe a little too hard as the side of the door smashed on the wall beside it.

The man on her doorstep smiled widely. "Good evening."

"Jack!" Liz blurted out, not expecting him to turn up of all people. She would even expect the creepy guy from the opposite block - the one that kept staring at her, always with a pair of scissors in hand, as she walked to work - to be at her door. But here, instead, was the Silver Panther, Jack Donaghy: the head of NBC, the almost-CEO of General Electric; her mentor, her best friend.

_"Best friend". Try to make that sound good. _She winced inwardly, but a half-surprised, half-frustrated look masked her face. Here he was, decked out in a rather dappper-looking tux, with his coat all smooth and silky, his graying hair slicked back with gel. She was about to shoot him down with questions on his attire, but she remembered it was, alas, after six. Same, old Donaghy with all his brash motives, of course.

"Lemon." The man's piercing ice-blue eyes sparkled with his familiar, usual charm as he greeted her. The same pair scanned Liz up and down somewhat apprehensively, and an amused chuckle rose from him. He cleared his throat and said the obvious: "So you're spending your Saturday night with the company of a fridge of cheese, with a Slanket by your side. And let me guess: Criss is out of town and you had to resort to your lonely pre- and post-relationship formalities."

She nodded, winking cheekily. "You know me, Jack." Then, she paused and added, with a famous, not-so-breezy roll of her eyes, "And I guess this Slanket loves me, _not_ the other way around. _You_ would know, what with your gang of women trailing after you."

Jack, taken aback at her remark, rose a brow and stared at her, slightly humored. "Is that your impression of me? A man with -"

She bit her tongue and shook her head, interfering. Whenever she opened her mouth, why did stupid things always come out? "- You know what, just ignore what I said and tell me why you're here." It all came out as a heavy huff.

"About time," he mumbled under his breath to 'himself'. His husky-blue eyes flickered down to her face. "Well, being your ever-so caring friend, I decided to quit everything I was in the middle of doing and stop by your place and keep you company."

"Really."

"No, not really." Jack grinned. "The Miller's canceled their party, and Liddy is sleeping at home. So... Now I'm here, Mrs. Lemon. Satisfied?"

"Somewhat satisfied," she finished. She shrugged and flashed a small smile, stepping back in to her condo. "Now would you like to come in?" Liz said aloud, raising her arms in the air, her Slanket sleeves drooping from her arms, making her appear as a blue angel of some sort.

"Absolutely." Without further beckoning, Jack swooped into her home like an eagle/hawk/vulture thing, brushing past Liz with a pat to her shoulder and leaving her staring at the back of him. After setting his briefcase - God knew why he brought it - on the family room table, he took off his coat in a flourish and cleanly draped it over the couch that Liz had fell out from. He began surveying the room with moderate contempt, inspecting every funny-looking thing (such as the Criss Points board.)

"Lemon," he said when he was done, looking not at all surprised, "Why does your home look like a party of Tracy's pet monkeys took a break here? And by break, I mean completely shook these rooms over until not even a rat can manuever through here."

"I don't have rats," Liz put in lamely, stepping by his side after she closed the door behind them. Now she was standing in front of him, her back turned to him, raising her arms again with a fake-proud smile on her cheese-crusted face. "_This_ is the aftermath of Hurricane Lemon. Any donation, preferably enough money to hire a maid, is graciously accepted."

"You don't need _a _maid. You need a whole crew of the sanitation department, plus a growing bonfire and -" he coughed, his nostrils flaring, "- a good bottle of Febreeze."

Liz made the same weirded-out face as he did, but not for the same reason. "Ew, Febreeze? Do you know the _air effects_ of that?" She waved her hands around, signaling and gesturing for more effect. "Jack," she defended without too much effort, "You came here to the 'disaster zone'. Now you have to deal with it."

Jack sighed, either laughingly or disgustingly, probably both. He then casted a glance at her and suddenly jerked back. "Oh, Lemon! Stop making that ridiculous badger-face."

"Ridiculous?" Now, she made a scrunched-up face.

"You look like a constipated badger that fell into a bramble bush and had a fight with it."

"To defend myself, I did, in fact, fall."

"That explains the _thud _I heard earlier. Anyways," he shot back his fierce negotiating-face at her, which made Liz snap out, "I am here to 'entertain' myself and you."

"Uh-huh."

He grimaced, smacking his lips, also not too impressed. "Okay, that wasn't the right sentence. Let's say, 'I'm am here to give you the company of two.'" Still, he was dissatisfied, but he carried on. "So what do you have on the agenda? An hour's watch of a MILF Island showing? A reread of a book you've already read a previous dozen times? A heading-out to the closest Wetzel's Pretzels?"

"_Actually_, after an hour of eating cheeze, I was going to fix myself a dinner." Liz tried to manage a smile.

"Microwave?" he snorted, smirking. Apparently, he didn't expect too much from her.

"No, Jack." She grinned boastfully, maybe with a little too much pride. "I was gonna try my hand on cooking an actually meal for myself."

"Oh!" Her energy was infectious, and Jack smiled brightly in return. "What do you plan on cooking? Or should I say, _destroying_?"

Liz rolled her eyes again and easily ignored his comment. "Well, I decided to heat up a chicken and whatever else I have, pour a glass of wine for myself, and see what happens from there."

"Pour of glass for me, too." Jack began walking over to the next room, which was the only clean one, with no further guidance or instruction. "Lemon," he called as he entered the kitchen, "I am a fantastic cook, just so you know, and helping you is what a mentor does. Do your thinking." With that, she heard a _clank_ coming from the shutting of a cabinet in the other room.

A good night of working on night cheeze down the drain, interrupted by Jack Donaghy, whether for the better or for the worst.

The head writer grudgingly tore the Slanket off of her and flopped it lazily beside his polished black coat, then followed after him.


End file.
